


comin' down, the years turned over (and I'll go on and lead you home)

by VolxdoSioda



Series: FFXV/MHW [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV, Monster Hunter (Video Games)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Gore, blind!Cor, descriptions of skinning/carving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 09:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20543810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: The successful end to a Kestodon culling reveals the arrival of something much more dangerous lurking in the Ancient Forest. Zorah's arrival has upset more than just few boneheads, and Cor means for Noctis to earn his wings before they wind up clipped.





	comin' down, the years turned over (and I'll go on and lead you home)

“This is disgusting.”

There’s no other way to describe driving Cor’s skinning blade through the flesh, sinew and bone of the Kestodon carcasses. He’s never been shy at the sight of blood, but he’s also never seen so much gore in his life. It’s making him queasy, but he also knows and understands that Cor has expectations of him, and that life as a Hunter requires some skills that might be considered unsavory.

Like carving up the kills.

“Yes, it is,” Cor agrees easily from where he’s crouched on the other side of the Kestodon, one hand outstretched, fingers nonchalantly following Noctis’ blade around the rim of the skull plate that he’s cutting loose. “And it only gets worse. You have to learn to cut and saw fast out here, lest something bigger come along and eat your prize. And the bigger the monster, the more gore you’re dealing with, and the bigger the prize.”

The thought of carving up anything after this almost makes Noctis vomit. He swallows it back, and saws through another half length of head before he has to turn away to catch his breath. “Sorry,” he pants, when a few quick breaths of fresh air don’t cut it, and turning back to the carcass seems impossible. He can only imagine the kind of weakness he must be radiating - how soft he must seem to Cor, who can do this blind, who survives on so much more than this. Who wears these things on his body.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Cor tells him. “Everyone starts somewhere. And in some ways, you’re better than a rookie Hunter.”

“Yeah?” Noctis clings to that, knowing the man wouldn’t lie just to pad his feelings. He takes in a few deep breaths, just until his stomach no longer feels like it’s going to leap up and out of his throat, and then turns back and viciously saws. The smell is beginning to turn rank, and it’s nearly been an hour out here, baked by the sun’s increasingly warm rays. He can only imagine the feast the flies and maggots will have in the days ahead.

At least someone is getting  _ something  _ out of this exchange, he tells himself. He firms his stance and his grip on the scalp, and saws a little harder. 

“Take your time,” Cor counsels. “You do this wrong, that’s an hour of time wasted. You don’t have that kind of luxury out here. Do it right the first time, even if it takes you a little longer. The speed will catch.”

“I imagine a few near-death experiences will help,” Noctis grunts, jokingly. 

“It does.”

A chill goes down Noctis’s spine. “So why am I better than a rookie Hunter?”

“Because you’ve been born and bred for war. The Lucian monarchs instilled in you the taste for violence, the ability to do great, terrible things to protect your people. Most people here don’t have that. They have a sense of wonder, a sense of joy and fulfillment. And then they come across this, and they balk. They try to leave the carcasses, but even the most veteran Hunter will tell you that’s a waste.”

“Want not, waste not?”

“Precisely. Out here, you kill only to feed yourself, or for materials.”

“Why not for both?” Noctis asks, and then has to pause as he reaches the end of the scalp. Planting one foot on the Kestodon’s neck, he twists and pulls back, and yelps as he nearly goes flying when the scalp pops off, causing brain matter to ooze out onto the forest floor. He scrambles to his feet as his stomach threatens to rebel, turning away and walking several paces back for clean air to breathe. 

He tries not to think about what’s clinging to his fingers, or what he just did.

“Because,” Cor says, apparently unbothered by Noctis’ soft stomach. “Ninety-nine percent of the monsters you encounter out here are inedible.”

_ That  _ catches his attention. “You’re shitting me.”

Cor shakes his head, and gestures for the knife. Noctis stumbles over and hands it back, and Cor crooks a single finger in a silent order for him to  _ watch  _ before stabbing the knife at the top of the neck, where the spine begins, and pulling down, carving a long swatch of scaly hide from the Kestodon’s body. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the tip of the tail.

“The reason most of these creatures are inedible is because most of them have built-up elemental reserves. The elemental reserves taint the meat.”

“Wait, what do you mean? Like, they can cast spells?”

Cor shakes his head. “With the exception of the edible ones, and the endemic life, everything on this island has a positive connection to an element, and a negative connection. Some have more than one. Basically? Weaknesses and strengths. Like your video games. Positive and negative.”

“And that taints them?”

“It makes their flesh poisonous, because even in death the elements cling to them. We’ve tried making it edible in various ways, and nothing has worked. Traditional medicine can’t touch it, and even magical purging does nothing. It’s in their DNA - their affinities, their weaknesses, it does something to their bodies that makes it impossible for us to use them. That’s why we don’t waste carves. And that’s why you don’t go killing anything you don’t absolutely need, or aren’t told to kill.”

“But the other creatures on the island can eat each other without issue?”

“And do, frequently. Predators eat predators, prey eats prey. It’s a no-holds-barred existence. You saw how I carved the scales just now?”

“Straight down the back.”

“Do all your carves like that. Don’t saw, don’t grind. Make your movements smooth, clean. I know it seems like it won’t do it, especially with bone involved, but trust me, it works better.”

“Anything else we can use?”

“The carapace.” He flips the knife back around, offering it handle-first to Noctis. “Slit circles around the wrists and feet. Cut off the tail and head. Stick the edge of the knife right under the rim of skin, and start slicing. Remember, long, even strokes.”

It’s an utter mess by the time they’re done. The only bright side is Noctis doesn’t get sick - he puts his three trophies in a bag Cor hands him, and washes his hands in a nearby stream while the birds that have been roosting nearby finally flock to the remaining carcass like vultures. Surprisingly though, none of them fight their fellows for the choicest meats. They swarm the body quietly, and then there’s nothing but the sound of flesh being pulled from bones. 

Cor’s already taken care of the other carcasses, and left the last for him to practice on, showing him half a dozen times, having him hold the blade lightly as Cor pulled it and cut his way through the other bodies, and then pressing the blade into his hand as they reached the last one. 

“How do you know what’s carvable?”

“Book. Something else I expect you to memorize.”

Noctis flicks the excess droplets from his fingers, not willing to wipe his hands on his now-dirty clothing. “Yeah but say I encounter something you didn’t. How will I know?”

“You don’t. You have to find out the hard way - by hunting it, and bringing chunks of it back to Bhaltair, and see what he can make out of it. Though I can tell you now, most animals have at least a couple ‘basic’ carves that you can stand by. Care to guess?”

Noctis looks at the scattering of bodies down the line of the beach, watching quietly as the birds go to town. “Skins, I imagine. Uh, carapace?” That gets him a nod from Cor. He tries to think what else a man like Bhaltair might want. Unfortunately, he’s never met a man like Bhaltair before. “Scales?”

“That too, but their tails.”

“Wait, really?”

Cor nods. “If it has a tail, Bhaltair can use it. The tails of most of the creatures on this island are actually incredibly valued, because they usually wind up mangled during encounters.”

He can see how. “What does he make with them?”

“Weapons, armor, whatever he can. And even if he can’t use them, they’re still good for selling. If you manage to cut something’s tail off during a battle, and it comes out as unmarred as you can? That’s a sign you’re a pretty damn good Hunter. If you’re doing it on the regular, you’re up there with the Commander.”

“I take it you can do it?”

“If it suits me. I’ve been fighting long enough to know how to get the most out of my kills, even if I don’t usually take missions anymore.”

“That makes-- wait, what do you mean, you don’t take missions anymore? Aren’t you going to be out here on the field?”  _ With me?  _

Cor shakes his head. “I’ll get you going - show you the lay of the land, as it were. But after that, I’m going to be needed back at Astera. The only time I really take to the field is for high level missions nobody else can or will do. And right now, that means the elder dragon that just landed on our shores. They’ll need me back home to help pinpoint exactly where it’s gone, which means you kids are responsible for the smaller missions. I’m sure you’ll do fine. Remember what I told you, back in town.”

“I’m your responsibility?”

“And even then, you have me as a resource. If you find something troubling out here, or hell you wound up on a bad mission and need to talk it out, I’m available.”

“I don’t want to be a bother--”

“Noctis. There are more hours in the day than you think, and--”

Abruptly, Cor stops talking. Noctis waits, thinking he had a sudden epiphany, but no. The man turns around, staring towards the depths of the jungle. 

“Uh--” he starts, but Cor snaps a hand out, and Noctis obligingly goes silent. He tries to strain his ears to hear whatever Cor does, but there’s nothing but the rustle of wind through the trees, and the beat of nearby bird wings.

“Follow me,” Cor says at last. “Stay behind me, and don’t make any unnecessary sounds.”

_ What the hell are you hearing?  _ Noctis wants to demand, but doesn’t, because he’s not stupid. Instead he nods, and follows his mentor across the way, and into the depths of the jungle.

  
  


X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


By the time they make it back to Astera, the sun has begun to dip into the horizon. For once, Noctis is grateful for the long walk back, because it gives him time to digest what the flying fuck he just saw. He had assumed he would have time to figure this all out - to learn how to carve, and how to kill and fight on his own terms, but that thought has long since evaporated. 

“There’s a pissed-off Pukei-Pukei running around the edge of the Wasteland,” Cor reports, striding up to the Commander’s desk like he owns it. Noctis hangs back, and watches as the Field Leader’s face turns to one of dismay, as the Commander’s expression becomes pinched.

“You’re certain?”

“I heard it moving around, and tracked it myself. Noctis?”

“Big lizard bird, spits poison, looks like a little kid’s art project come to life, giant tongue.” He shivers at that last bit. He’d thought the guts and gore were the worse thing of the day but no - watching that massive tongue emerge from the creatures mouth, zip out to grab a nearby kelbi, and then crush the poor thing in its mouth had been it. Noctis had very nearly gotten sick, and even now, he can still hear the crunch of bone and the scream of a dying animal as it was forcefully pulled into the Pukei’s mouth. 

A hand touches his shoulder. The Field Leader smiles down at him, not in pity, but understanding. “Nature’s vicious around here. Don’t worry. You’ll only get sick once.”

That’s what Drautos had taught him about the war fields, too. And he had - he’d gotten sick once after killing an assassin, and never again. But he never forgot that first kill. 

And he suspects he’s not going to forget this anytime soon, either. “So what do we do?”

“Hunt it down,” the Commander says. “Pukei-Pukei are typically forest creatures. If we have one wandering as far out as the Wastes, it means something has drastically upset it enough to cause it to be out there.”

“Which brings me to the second problem - there’s a massive steaming pile of Zorah’s shit between the forest and the desert. The Pukei-Pukei was trying to go around it, and couldn’t, and it was raring for a fight when we found it.”

“It’s possible that the path is a hunting trail,” the Leader puts in. “If it’s a path the Pukei is used to taking, something that makes the path deviate would upset it enough to wander outside it’s usual hunting lines.”

“So, once again this is Zorah’s doing.” The Commander sighs, shaking his head. “I’ll write up the hunt for it. Before I post it to the board, do you want your boy to have it?”

“Yes,” Cor says, and Noctis’ brain catches on to what the Commander means too late to say anything, even as his stomach clenches and he feels today’s stresses come back a hundred fold. “Noctis, come here and sign for the hunt.”

“Need I remind you that you literally haven’t even taught me carving yet?” Noctis demands, but obligingly comes forward as the Commander takes a sheet of paper and starts filling out the form on his end. “And you want me to hunt this bird-lizard thing with a poison sac in its mouth?”

“You won’t be going alone,” Cor tells him. “And unfortunately, this type of rapid fledging is par for the course out here. You’ll either win or you’ll die.” 

“We need the Pukei-Pukei exterminated as quickly as possible,” the Commander instructs, and pushes the finished paper across the desk to Noctis, who picks up the pen, gives the notes a quick scan, and then signs his life across the bottom line. “Are you going then, Cor?”

“As witness. And to pull his ass out of the fire if anything goes wrong.”

“Bold of you to assume this entire venture isn’t fixing to go wrong,” Noctis mutters as he heads back towards his room. Cor spends a few more moments talking, and then follows.

“And bold of  _ you  _ to assume that I don’t know how to take care of my own,” Cor bends down to murmur to him as they move. “You might be content thinking the worst of yourself, and the people of Insomnia might be content letting you, but I won’t have it. Not when you’re fully capable of doing great things out here, and helping us. I know you best, Noctis. Even better than you do, at times. So I need you to stop thinking, and just trust me. If I tell you to go forward, it’s because I know you’re not going to die. If I tell you to stop, it’s because I know the risks involved, and the reward isn’t worth your life.”

“I don’t see how you think I’m capable of doing this.” And he really, really doesn’t. Especially when he’d been crouched on the forest floor with Cor only moments before the discovery, fighting not to hurl his meager helping of  _ khlah  _ up. He has violence in him, but not towards animals that don’t mean him harm. And the Pukei-Pukei, from what he can tell, is only trying to find it’s normal path back into the forest, but is blocked. The block is upsetting it, so if they could remove the block, the creature would probably calm down and return to it’s normal life in the forest. “Can’t we just--”

“That pile of shit weighs as much as Astera in its entirety. Nevermind that as it cools, it hardens, and cracking it is nearly impossible. By now, the base of it will have cooled to where it’s trapped where it landed. The Pukei will refuse to go through it, even if we carve a hole directly through it, because it will still smell the Zorah.”

Noctis closes his mouth. “Then can’t we knock the Pukei out and relocate it? Bring it back to the forest through a different route?”

“And what happens in two days, when the Pukei goes to try that route again, and flares up? When it flies back to the Wasteland?”

“What makes you think it’ll go for the Wasteland?” Noctis demands.

“Because that’s the path it takes. But it will continue to be upset when the trail doesn’t clear, and it will likely venture further into the Wasteland, because as far as it’s animal brain is concerned, it’s direct path to food in the forest is cut off, even though it can just fly over it. So it’ll start preying on the Wasteland creatures, and breeding with the Wasteland creatures, and before we know it we’ll have two or three different deviations running around that are more powerful than both base creatures put together. We’re not doing this just to be cruel, Noctis. We’re doing this to prevent trouble down the line.”

“You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“I’ve seen the way it plays out. Remember this, if nothing else during your time here - nothing we do is out of cruelty. We don’t recklessly hunt beasts just to hunt them. If the Commander gives you a set of instructions, those instructions have gone through half a dozen hands and minds before landing in yours, and every alternative option has already been thought of. If he orders you to go out into the forest one day and wipe out all but one of the species you find, and bring those remaining species back here so we can hold them while we nuke the forest to the ground, there’s a damned good reason for it. Sickness, a plague in the forest, something much worse - the Commission takes pride in making damned sure that whatever we do, we affect the natural balance of things as little as possible, while still retaining the best possible outcome.”

Noctis is quiet. It’s not like he thought his words were better than the Commanders, or even that his choices wiser. “It still doesn’t answer how you think I’m capable of being the one to do it,” he finally says. “I’ve barely kept my stomach down during the carving. I’m about as green as you could get.”

“Because I watched you stagger to your feet after getting mowed down by a Maralith.”

Noctis flinches. He turns to look at his uncle, to see the man’s pulled his helm off, and has sightless eyes open, looking directly at him. Despite the lack of color, they seem so utterly fierce. 

“Because I watched you defy the expectations of doctors and the kingdom just to take the worry off your father’s shoulders. Because even as you’ve grown with that stigma on your back, with the expectations of people on your shoulders, you’ve done your duty. You’ve not once complained or flinched back, even if things made you uncomfortable. You’ve been terrified, you’ve been alarmed, but you’ve never stepped back. 

“Because I’ve watched you grow up, and do impossible things for someone your age like take care of your own wounds after getting knifed by an assassination attempt that snuck through our lines, and order men to the field in place of King Regis, and speak to our people like one. Even now, you didn’t whine at the Commander about his choice - you’re telling me you don’t understand where my attitude comes from. But you’re not fighting my decision.”

“Because I trust you,” Noctis croaks, throat tight. His eyes are burning, and for once, he’s glad Cor’s blind. It’s bad enough his uncle’s words make him want to blubber like a baby, he doesn’t need to see it, too. “Because you’re right in that you do know more than me, and you’ve never let me down. You could have thrown me to the sharks a hundred thousand different ways, but you never did, and you still haven’t. Even if this feels like it’s over my head.”

“It will always feel like that. Even when you’re carving through carcasses like breathing, and hauling unconscious beasts back for our teams to research them, you’ll always feel like you could get in over your head at any given point. And I imagine there will be times when you  _ will  _ get in over your head, and you’ll have to make the impossible possible somehow, unless you prefer death. But it won’t be because you aren’t ready, or because I decided the best way for you to learn was to throw you in the deep end of the pool. The fledging might be rough on the baby Hunters, but we keep them all in the realm of possibility.”

Possibility. That was the important word. That was the difference between him dying on this venture and not, the same as it was when he faced off against assassins, when he stepped in front of a crowd of angry people and had to soothe them somehow where his father couldn’t. There had always been a  _ possibility  _ for Noctis to do those things, but it hadn’t been until he’d been in the thick of it that he’d made it a reality. 

“There won’t be a fuss over this?” he asks.

“How do you mean?”

“The other Hunters won’t cry foul because you’re giving this hunt to some royal kid instead of one of their own flesh and blood?”

“Stop that,” Cor barks. “You’re as much a Hunter as any of them right now. If they’re treating you like you’re not it’s because they’re thick-headed and their pride is smarting. We choose the capable ones for the quests, nothing else.”

There’s a soft knock on the wall before anything else can be said, and they both turn to the sight of Simen entering the room, smiling. “Ah, there you two are. ‘Ello, young Fiver. I’ve heard you are the one taking on the Pukei-Pukei hunt,  _ non?” _

“Yes ma’am. Is there something wrong?” Noctis straightens a bit, worried that somehow without knowing it he’s made an error. But Simen shakes her head, the beads in her braids clattering together as she does. 

“No, there is nothing wrong. Rather, I was hoping we could help each other out with this venture. You see, the Pukei-Pukei’s territory overlaps with an old camp the heads of Research put together some time ago. It’s fallen out of use, but with this hunt I thought it would be useful to revive it. It borders the northern edge of the forest, closer to where you run to the Wasteland. It would be a great deal easier on you if you didn’t have to trudge through the entirety of the Ancient Forest every time you needed to go somewhere close to that border.”

Cor makes an approving noise. “I completely forgot about that place. Why was it abandoned?”

“The last mating cycle of the old Anjanath Queen saw several fights break out among the males, one of which resulted in them running right up into camp. Nobody was hurt, but it frightened a lot of our researchers. However, our scouts have reported that since the death of the old Queen, none of the wild ones have taken that spot as territory. There is one male that routinely passes through on his way to the watering hole, but he doesn’t so much as give the place a glance.” 

She fixes her eyes back on Noctis. “If you could go and finish the final set-up, we could get that place running as a base of operations for you and other Hunters of the Fifth, which would make things easier for future hunts.”

“What would need to be done?” Cor asks. 

“Nothing much. We just need you to transport the materials through the forest - we’ve got benches, tables, a furnace for cooking, that sort of thing. Make it livable, basically.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Noctis thinks out loud.

“Which means it likely won’t be. What’s the caveat?” Cor demands. “There’s something you’re leaving out, Simen.”

“Ah, well. If you could also chase off any monsters that might have made that place it’s nest since our last time there… we would also be extremely grateful.”

Noctis feels his stomach clench. Cor’s eyes narrow. Simen continues on, even as she backs out towards the door. “And who knows, perhaps your Pukei-Pukei has made it its home. That would be killing two birds with one stone, no?” She laughs as she leaves, as if the thought of Noctis coming across such a thing is  _ delightful.  _

“I really don’t get your sense of humor,” Noctis says, once she’s gone and they’re alone once more. “You all seem a bit…”

“Touched in the head?” Cor asks dryly. “Probably. After a while, situations that might result in bodily harm but not death seem funny. You’ll learn it eventually. For now, Simen’s probably got the cart ready to go, and I daresay if we’re doing this, the Field Leader will be coming with. Let’s go ahead and pack it up and get started.”

“Do you really think the Pukei-Pukei made it’s nest up in the old camp?”

“I doubt it, though I may be wrong. The Pukei-Pukei usually prefers the sporefield, up closer to where we saw it last time. Despite what you witnessed when we found it, it’s mostly herbivorous, and sporeplants happen to be one of it’s favorites. Ironic, when you consider we use those very same plants to hide ourselves in when we’re in over our heads.”

“That’s terrible.”

“If the shoe fits.”

Simen does indeed have the cart waiting for them when they arrive, and the Leader gives a wave from his spot by the gate. “Got roped into this nonsense too, I see,” he says far too cheerfully, slapping Noctis on the shoulder. “And hey, don’t worry. Between us, you’re in good hands. We won’t let you get killed.”

“For now,” Cor adds. “He’s gonna have to fly on his own at some point.”

“Yeah,  _ at some point,  _ Cor. Let the kid relax a little before you go flinging him out of the nest.”

“There’s no nest to be had, and you know that,  _ Ixinio.” _

“Agh! Don’t speak that accursed word out loud!” The Leader slapped hands over his ears, glaring at Cor. “You know I hate that name!”

“Sorry. Slipped my mind,” Cor deadpans, dry as dust, and wanders off to talk to Simen. 

“Slipped nothing!” Leader mutters, rubbing his ears. He looks at Noctis. “You heard nothing, got it?”

“Uh, sure?” 

“Just call me Field Leader!”

“Sure.”

The man squints at Noctis for a moment as if to make sure he’s actually going to comply, and then nods and stalks off towards the forest. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

  
_ Definitely touched in the head,  _ Noctis concludes.


End file.
